


So Far

by halukation



Category: Van Helsing (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, F/F, thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 16:19:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12774789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halukation/pseuds/halukation
Summary: Somehow someway Susan doesn't die. This is the scene of Vanessa finding her and discovering that—though, not before a little angst first.





	So Far

_“I killed Susan.”_

 

The gurgled, twisted words came out of Sam’s mouth in sync with the gestures he signed to Mohamad.

 

Before he even spoke them, when Mohamad’s expression was full of growing realization—of confusion and shock and disbelief—Vanessa _knew_. She knew that once again, someone had left her—had been _taken_ from her. But she didn’t want to believe it. And as she stumbled away, leaving Mohamad to regard Sam disbelievingly, there was a growing weight in her chest.

 

But she held onto the vain hope that Sam had misspoken. That he had a different definition of “killed.” But when she saw Susan’s black boots peering over a log, rigid in the air yet lifeless, the hope curled up and died.

 

“No no no no no.”

 

The words came stumbling out over her mouth, again and again, repeated, as she stumbled to Susan’s body.

 

“Susan, _no_.”

 

Vanessa found one of her hands, fervently searching for a warmth or a twitch or _any_ response where her fingers curled around Susan’s. But there was nothing. Already the warmth was shifting and seeping, no longer lively warmth but a stretched, gooey, heated, disgusting warmth similar to meat set out in the sun too long. And there was no twitch; her fingers were limp in Vanessa’s grasp.

 

Emotion surged inside her and her throat tightened. Her head seemed to swell with pressure as tears came to her eyes. And her lips twitched, moving but not speaking as the emotion climbing in her throat sought a channel.

 

She was fumbling. Not only with her hands, but mentally.

Her mind was reeling. How could this have happened?

Sam, _the killer_? It made no sense.

And yet, her eyes were glued to the dark bruises already formed on Susan’s throat. And it didn’t take long for her to realize why her hand didn’t quite fit in Susan’s; she was missing a finger.

 

She wanted to scream. And she did. In pain, in anger. In some indescribable emotion that filled her so strongly and painfully that she nearly choked on it. Her body began to shake, her muscles quivering. The pain was so strong. The anger was so strong. She didn’t want to leave. She knew if she did that _that was it_ —Susan was dead. But twisted, anguished revenge was clawing at her, eager to be sated with Sam’s blood. And her eyes were darkening, the vampiric rage building as she imagined tearing him limb from limb.

 

But as she went to stand, the fingers pressed against her own tightened and willed her back down.

 

Her heart skipped a beat, stumbling as fear and confusion surged through her body.

 

_What?_

 

In a crouch, wavering over Susan’s body, Vanessa glanced down to see the slow, fumbling, and jerky rise and fall of her chest.

 

She thickly swallowed.

 

_“Susan?”_

 

The name came out tentatively, her fear evident. Tears were pressing at her eyes, blurring her vision, and her heart felt split in her chest because _what if it was just in her head_ … What if she had just seen wrong? What if the chest that appeared to be pushing up, struggling to draw a breath against death’s waning grip, was just her imagination—what if it was _still?_

 

She looked away.

She bit down on her lip, willing back the tears and scream and _that nameless emotion_ that made her head ache with pressure.

 

She was ready to go, ready to stand and drop the hand that was limp in her grasp. But again, as she shifted in her crouch, the fingers tightened where she held them.

 

_“Susan.”_

 

The plea fumbled out of her lips, because she _knew_ she had felt it then.

 

She glanced back down, and there, streamy and uncertain, were a pair of green eyes trying to focus. And after a moment they did, finding Vanessa and her twisted expression. Disbelief was a sudden contender against the pain and anger, but they still curled, circling as she stared at Susan’s face.

 

_Was this real?_

 

She wanted to believe so—she strongly did. But where was the logic? No one just came back to life. Sure, she did. But it had already been affirmed that she was different. Susan wasn’t.

 

And yet, here she was, breath filling her lungs after it had all just been choked out of her.

 

Vanessa ignored the _why._

 

Instead, she fell over Susan’s body. She was conscious of her weight, of Susan’s uncertain state, but still, her face found the crook of her neck, and she inhaled and she cried and she felt.

 

Susan's scent was fresh, green grass and marigolds and no longer tainted with the stink of death. Her tears were warmed by Susan’s skin. And a feeble pulse brushed her nose.

 

“Vanessa?”

 

Susan’s voice was strained, which made sense given the severe bruising of her throat. But Vanessa could still sense the emotion in her words, the confusion and growing anxiety— _how was she here?_

 

Certainly, Susan was as confused and distraught as Vanessa was.

 

But her anxiety seemed to pan out, stopped for the moment, at least, by Vanessa’s presence. And not a second passed before Vanessa felt fingers in her hair, ones that eased into her scalp, gentle albeit a little shaky.

 

At Susan’s voice, Vanessa was able to scrap together some composure. Slowly leaning back—so Susan’s fingers could loosen from her hair gently—Vanessa glanced at Susan’s face, finding a gaze nearly as tearful as her own.

 

“I’m sorry. I’m so _so_ sorry.”

 

The apology came out as her fingers rose to Susan’s jaw, fluttering there as she suddenly felt uncertain touching her. _She_ was the reason this had happened. And now, Susan was in this uncertain state of resurrection, with fear likely the main emotion she was experiencing. _Sam had killed her_ , and probably would again. And he was still out there.

 

“I should have protected you. I’m here now.”

 

Her heart was slowing from the Kentucky Derby it had been racing, and the pain that had held it in a tight grasp was seeping away. But she was still tender, the raw markings of where the emotions had ripped through her so quickly and violently evident in her expression— _and_ searching fingers, which continued to waver around Susan’s body.

 

But she had a stronger grip on her composure, and was more focused on seeing to Susan.

 

“I-…I don’t know... how is this happening?”

 

The words came out, confused and broken and uncertain how to feel.

 

Vanessa found Susan’s hand, certain in holding it in her grasp.

 

“I don’t know. But I’ll be damned if it has to happen again.”

 

_You’re not dying on my watch—not again._

 

And Susan shifted and Vanessa met her, other hand reaching out to pull Susan into her body. And she held her there, heart still stumbling every other beat, but more composed than before.

 

_Susan was alive._

 

And Sam wouldn’t be for much longer.


End file.
